This is the building with the water tower on top, full of Barcol stuff that did not sell at auction and not worth the trouble to scrap.
One thing I like about the oppressive globalist-wrought future is the idea of numerically subdividing spaces; my geek side sort of wants to live in a flat that can be sorted by as Dewey Decimal-like code.
A US Army Corps of Engineers tug, tied at the end of the pier before the American Victory was parked here.
Imagine the voice of an entitled White suburban mother. She’s now talking about oral hygiene in the “urban” (Black) schools.
Empty equipment racks behind a missile launcher.
Goop and slop slip to drop in the shame drain.
In the office at the end of the dock are two brooms. One is from the last ore train. One is from the last boat.
An 80s-era company crate, as found in a forgotten store room.